CHAPTER X

THE _Myra_ BRINGS VISITORS

We had hardly dared to hope the _Myra_ would be back promptly at the end of four weeks, remembering that long, anxious delay on her former voyage, but she surprised us by showing her top-sails over the blue horizon-line three full days before we had dreamed of her being due.

Of course we were all clustered in mad excitement on the beach, waving frantically, when she slipped through the break in the barrier reef and into the smooth, transparent water of our little lagoon, where she came to anchor. Uncle Joe was in the dinghy when it pulled ashore, and with him we saw an elderly couple--neither of whose faces we knew--the lady being dressed in deep mourning.

Naturally enough the first greetings were for Uncle Joe, but a moment later he shook us aside, something the way a big, playful bear might have done to a lot of bothering cubs, and turned to the little black-gowned old lady beside him.

“First,” he said, in the deep, hearty voice we had learned to love the sound of, “you must meet the finest and dearest sister a wandering sailor ever possessed. Mollie dear, I have brought you as visitors the former owners of Sunset Island, Monsieur and Madame Carreau.”

Aunt Mollie took the little frail looking old lady’s hands--which were trembling pitifully--in both hers and then, somewhat to my astonishment, because Aunt Mollie’s not usually demonstrative with outsiders--she bent over impulsively and kissed Madame Carreau.

“Welcome home, Madame,” she said warmly. “I feel as if we had been your very happy, grateful guests all these months. How nice to be able to enjoy this beautiful old house with you! How did Joe happen to find you both? He told me he had seen you last in India.”

She was shaking hands now with Monsieur Carreau, who looked almost as frail and tired as his wife, I thought. Then Uncle Charles was introduced, and finally Andrée and the boys and I. We were half dying of smothered excitement and curiosity, by the time it came our turn, over the advent of visitors--particularly visitors about whose identity we had speculated as often and heatedly as we had on the former owners of our Island.

“It was the luckiest chance you ever heard of, my meeting these good friends again,” Uncle Joe spoke up promptly. “It seems they’d got homesick for the Island, and decided that somehow they must find me and win my permission to come back--as if _that_ were necessary, of course it’s their home still!” Here Uncle Joe laughed and blew his nose loudly, to cover up his real sympathy I guessed. “Anyhow,” he went on, “they thought they were getting along in years, and that the world had been a pretty rough place of late, and they wanted nothing so much as to come home to Sunset Island and end their days here peacefully, with their memories of their son, Raoul, and the happiness of that time when he was alive and the plantation prosperous.”

I saw Aunt Mollie’s arm go quietly about Madame Carreau’s thin little shoulder and draw her nearer.

“Yes, that was it,” Monsieur Carreau broke in, his voice trembling. “We thought never to return to this island where so much of sorrow came to us. But in the end, one desires always to go home. We can remember better here, as our good friend Monsieur le Capitaine says, the times when we were very happy and Raoul was young.”

“And by the merest chance we found each other in New York,” Uncle Joe took up the story cheerfully. “They had been inquiring for me at a sort of sea-faring club they knew I used to belong to, but which I haven’t been near in ten years or more. The secretary of the club, however, who follows the shipping news, had seen the arrival of the _Myra_ listed, and got word to me. And of course the moment I found out how they felt, I bundled Monsieur and Madame aboard the schooner, hardly giving them time to send for their luggage. And here we are!”

“We have been protesting all the way down,” Madame said in her soft, gentle little voice, “about being inflicted on strangers in this fashion. We did not know the Capitaine’s family were living on the Island. We hoped perhaps we could have been of service in overseeing the plantation for its new owner.”

“But that’s just what you can do--better than anyone else,” Aunt Mollie said quickly. “To speak in the American slang of my sons, you and Monsieur, here, ‘know the ropes,’ and can help us to many short-cuts we would otherwise have to work out for ourselves. Besides, think of the company you will be for us all!”

“And perhaps,” I was bold enough to say excitedly, thinking of that chest in the storeroom with the fascinating old clothes and Rosemary’s diary, and all the rest of it, that had helped to make our stay on Sunset Island so like a book. “Perhaps when you’re rested, Madame, you’ll tell us stories sometimes, about the history of the Island. And--and about Rosemary. You see we found her diary, and some of her lovely clothes and--and Morgan’s map--but we’ve lost _that_!--We’ll save that part to tell you later, when things are quieter--Uncle Joe will have to hear it too.”

The smile she gave me was so sort of grateful and pleased, it actually made the tears come to my eyes, and I’m not the kind of girl that cries easily either.

“You dear child,” she half whispered, and patted me on the cheek, as if I were five instead of fifteen--only I didn’t mind that.

“Jean,” she said, turning to her husband, her big, sad looking dark eyes bright and excited, “she wants to know about Rosemary--and the treasure.”

Monsieur nodded, almost as excited and eager as she was. “They are like Raoul,” he murmured. “He was always hunting for Morgan’s doubloons.”

They beamed at each other so delightedly that I was glad I’d mentioned the map, guessing that the reference to it had brought back the happiest time in their lives, and broken the ice of formality between us.

Then Aunt Mollie insisted that further conversation must be left until our new visitors had been installed in their old bedroom in Planter’s House, and we all clamored to go along as escort.

Monsieur and Madame Carreau protested anxiously, in the same breath, that they would on no account consent to dislodging anyone who might now be occupying their room. That they knew and loved all the rooms in the house, and would be comfortable and at home in any that was vacant.

Fortunately it turned out that theirs was the room we had saved for our “guest room”--wondering at the time, when we’d ever have guests to put in it; so everyone was satisfied.

Uncle Joe had two of the sailors from the _Myra_ carry up the one shabby trunk the Carreaus had brought to the Island, and Andrée and I, at our earnest request, were allowed by Madame to unpack it, and hang the clothes in the two big closets in the room, under her direction.

Of course we didn’t comment to each other, either then or later, on the shabbiness and old-fashioned cut of both Monsieur’s and Madame’s wardrobes, but we couldn’t help noticing and guessing at the struggle they’d had, not only with their sorrow for their dead son, but with poverty as well.

I certainly did feel glad we’d got them safely on Sunset Island, where we could try to make up to them for all the bad times that had gone before. Naturally it would have been rude to venture to refer to their troubles, but I tried sort of stumblingly, to tell her how happy we were that she and Monsieur had come back to the Island, and Andy came to my help with a pretty little speech such as she can be counted on to make when the occasion requires it. I’ve always envied her the positive genius she has for saying the right, graceful thing at the right time.

Madame blushed like a girl. She had a soft, delicate white skin that showed every little fluttering change of color.

“You’re dear children,” she told us, and reaching up laid one of those wrinkled, blue-veined gentle old hands of hers against my cheek, and the other under Andy’s chin, and drew us both down to kiss us.

“So you are interested in finding that treasure, _mes enfants, n’est-ce pas_?” she asked us, smiling. “So was my Raoul. Always he talked about the great Morgan’s hiding place. And when he was a little boy--about so tall--” she measured off three feet from the floor--“he would make _maman_ to hunt with him. I will show you all the places, _mes chéries_. Perhaps--perhaps after all, one day we find that treasure, _non_?”

“Uncle Joe doesn’t believe it’s on the Island at all,” I said doubtfully. “He thinks the old sailor who copied the chart made a mistake in copying the latitude, or the longitude--I never know which is which. The figures are so blurred, you know. They might be almost anything. And besides, there’s no inlet on the Island, like the one marked ‘Dead Men’s Inlet’ on the map.”

Andy looked anxiously from me to Madame, her eyes sparkling. I’d never thought before she was quite as keen as the rest of us on the treasure hunt, but suddenly I felt a little ashamed to realize that perhaps I hadn’t bothered to find out just what this particular young cousin of mine was thinking and feeling. Andy had a way of keeping her thoughts to herself, but that wasn’t any real excuse for leaving her out of things as maybe Syd and I had been doing unconsciously.

“But I never believed that there was a mistake in that map.” Madame answered my last remark very emphatically. She nodded her head with great assurance at each word. “It has always been the--how do you say--_tradition_, that it was here on the Island Morgan made his _cache_. Let us not consult those wise persons, children, like my husband and Monsieur your _oncle_. Let us make our own hunt for the treasure.”

She thought a moment, and then added:

“There may be another way of reading that map--well, we shall see. And--here is a secret--I have sometimes thought what if the little plateau on top of the high ground--You have not hunted there yet? I thought not. The other search parties always claimed it was too far from the beach.”

Andy and I looked at each other, our breath coming faster. I had often wanted to explore that jungly patch of high ground, but it was such hard going we’d kept putting it off, before. Of course probably Uncle Joe was right; he usually was; but another treasure hunt would be a glorious lark, whether we found anything to reward us or not.

When the unpacking was finished, we persuaded Madame to lie down for a little nap, and Andy and I hurried downstairs to find Uncle Joe.

We both wanted to be present when he heard about Captain Rawson’s visit and the theft of the map. To our disappointment we discovered we were too late for that, but the whole family, including Monsieur Carreau, were gathered in the hall, still talking the matter over.

Uncle Joe, though of course he was a good deal surprised by the news, was the calmest of us all--But that’s the way Uncle Joe is. He never loses his head, and just because of that very calmness, and self-assurance of his the people round him begin to feel pretty sure that everything’s quite all right after all--and that even if it’s not, Uncle Joe’s able to make it so.

Syd says that is the quality that makes great leaders, and I guess he’s right. I know Uncle Joe’s crew on the _Myra_ adore him, and would follow him into any danger, sure he’d find a way to bring them safely through.

In a different fashion, Aunt Mollie’s the same. The whole family has always turned to her instinctively when we’re in any trouble.

Almost the first question Uncle Joe asked when the story had been told, was addressed to Martin.

“Didn’t know the ship, did you, Martin? Get a look at her name?”

Martin tried to nod his head and shake it, both at the same time in answer, and he was so in earnest none of us saw anything funny in the way he did it.

“I didn’t see her name, sir,” he said. “That was one point made me kind o’ suspicious things weren’t all clear and aboveboard. She was a sloppy lookin’ craft--not in her lines, which was pretty as you could ask. Somebody’s racin’ yacht she’s been, once upon a time, sir, if you ask me. There’s real class to her, an’ no mistake. But, say, it’d have made any yacht owner’s heart real sick, to look at the way that crew kept her. Things layin’ ’round on her deck, an’ a long tarpaulin trailin’ over her stern so it hid her name plate entirely--’Course it might have been an accident, but she didn’t have no name on her for’ard, and no name on the dinghy neither. Still an’ all, I kind o’ got a feelin’ I’ve seen her before but I can’t rightly say just where nor when.”

Uncle Joe thought this over carefully for a full minute.

“You think she’s a rum-runner, eh?” he asked then. “Sounds as if she might be some kind of tough customer, judging by her Captain’s actions. Poor Reddy! Well, maybe we’ll find out more about her antecedents and mission later on.”

At this Syd gave me a significant look. So Uncle Joe expected our modern pirates back again, too! I felt pretty thankful that if they were really coming they’d been considerate enough to wait till Uncle Joe was at the helm.

But here Uncle Charles changed the subject by asking a question about the result of the trip north, and Uncle Joe had so many interesting things to tell of the arrangements he had made in New York for disposing of our oranges, and the various tools, stores, etc., he had brought back for the plantation in the _Myra_, that we forgot all about Captain Rawson for the time being, and when Madame Carreau came downstairs an hour later, looking rested, and bright, we forgot entirely to tell her anything about the map being lost.

Later we were all glad of this, because Monsieur, seizing a moment when Madame had left the room for something, asked us very earnestly not to mention the subject before her.

He told us she had always had a weak heart, and it had been his particular care, as it had been their son’s also while he lived, to keep all worry and anxiety from her as far as it lay in their power.

Of course, it wasn’t the theft of the map that would worry her--Monsieur Carreau expressed his belief, proudly, that his wife would be entirely able to draw that map line for line, from memory--but the apprehension connected with the possibility of a return visit from Captain Rawson’s vessel, might prey on her imagination. For his part he added, he very much doubted whether we should ever see anything of those ill-mannered gentry again. But I think we all felt he was only saying this because he wanted to believe it--not because he really did. Naturally, we all promised solemnly we wouldn’t mention the matter before Madame.

“But suppose she asks to see the map,” Andy reminded us suddenly. “She’s awfully interested in the whole idea of a new treasure hunt, so she probably will want the map to study over--don’t you think so, Gay?”

I had to admit that after what she had said to us upstairs, it seemed very likely.

Monsieur Carreau frowned in a troubled fashion. Then his face cleared.

“But I heard Mademoiselle Gay tell her, down on the beach when we arrived, that the map was lost,” he exclaimed triumphantly. “We can tell her just that. She will think it mislaid somewhere. That will not be a lie, my friends. It is lost--quite thoroughly, I should say. My wife is too polite, I hope, ever to ask impertinent questions as to _how_ you contrived to lose it.”

It was beautiful to see how proud of her, and careful and considerate for her he was, even in the smallest details. But then, somehow, I couldn’t have imagined anyone who had lived in the same house with Madame Carreau for long, being anything but devoted to her.

It was just as well Monsieur Carreau had warned us when he did, for as soon as the shadows began to lengthen out on the terrace, Madame brought out some exquisite embroidery she was working on, and asked Andy and me to draw up chairs beside her.

“How pleasant it is to be home again,” she said softly, with a little half sigh. “There is just one thing I want to see, to make me feel natural, _mes enfants_, and that is Morgan’s map. Raoul and I were forever puzzling over it.” There were sudden tears in her eyes, which Andy and I pretended politely not to see.

Andy spoke quickly and sort of carelessly, while I was still wondering how to begin.

“We’re awfully ashamed, Madame, to have to tell you that we’ve managed very stupidly to lose your map--yes, of course it’s really yours. It was poor little Reddy--he took it out of the escritoire one day about a week ago, without permission, and now he doesn’t know where it is.”

Every word of which was literally true, but I resented her blaming it on Reddy’s supposed carelessness. Of course, he shouldn’t have shown the map to Captain Rawson, but he hadn’t just carelessly mislaid it, as her version of the affair seemed to imply. However, I couldn’t think of anything to improve the story without coming out with all the facts, so I kept still.

To our surprise and relief Madame took the loss matter-of-factly.

“That is too bad, but it will turn up somewhere. Lost things always do,” she said smilingly. “I hope you didn’t scold the poor little fellow. All boys adore a treasure map. And at any rate it can’t have got off the Island.” Little did she guess how far off the Island it had gone.